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chrisstvrns · 2 days ago

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𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞: 𝐜.𝐬.

"maybe one day you'll call me, and tell me that you're sorry too." ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

in which: chris' ex girlfriend calls him after a party she was uncomfortable at.

warnings: mention of drugs and alcohol, brief mention of a guy making the reader uncomfortable, smut, unprotected sex, reuinion sex, please let me know if i missed anything!!

word count: 1.8k

chris was the last person you would’ve thought to call to come get you. you got to the party an hour ago, and in all honesty, you didnt wanna be there. too many people. drinks. drugs. not your environment. you were stood against the wall in the corner, trying to somehow back away from the creepy guy trying to hit on you, when all of a sudden, chris is dragging you outside, arm wrapped around your waist as if you never broke up eight months ago.

he gets you settled in the passenger seat, climbing into the driver’s seat and facing you. “what happened, baby?”

“i don’t know, i... i just couldn’t do it. i only ever went to parties with you, and i just... there was drinks, and drugs, and the guys kept trying to hit on me, and my girlfriends kept trying to get me to drink and take the drugs, and i didn’t want it, and it was so scary, chris. i didn’t know who to call so i just called you...” you ramble, a hand over your chest.

chris takes a hold of your free hand, rubbing soft circles on it with his thumb. “shh, it’s okay, i got you,” he murmurs, his voice softer than you remember. his hand squeezes yours gently, grounding you, bringing you back down from the whirlwind of emotions swirling in your chest. you take a shaky breath, eyes flickering to him, searching for something—maybe reassurance, maybe comfort, maybe just proof that he’s really here.

“you don’t have to explain anymore,” he says, his thumb still tracing lazy circles over your skin. “i’m just glad you called me.”

you nod, swallowing hard. the weight in your chest still lingers, but it’s a little lighter now. his presence alone is enough to make you feel safer than you had all night.

“do you wanna go home?” he asks after a beat, watching you carefully, like you’re something fragile, like he’s afraid you’ll break if he moves too fast.

you hesitate. home should be the obvious choice, but the thought of going back to your empty room, alone with your thoughts, makes your stomach twist. chris must see the conflict on your face because his grip on your hand tightens just slightly.

“or,” he offers, “we could just drive for a while. clear your head.”

you look at him then, really look at him, and for the first time in eight months, it doesn’t feel like there’s an ocean between you. it feels like maybe, just maybe, he’s still your safe place.

“yeah,” you whisper. “let’s just drive.”

he nods, starting the engine, his hand still holding yours.

the engine hums to life, a low, familiar sound that fills the silence between you and chris. his hand stays wrapped around yours, even as he shifts the car into gear. the way his thumb keeps tracing those slow, gentle circles—it’s like he never stopped knowing how to calm you down. like he still remembers exactly how to touch you when you’re coming undone.

the streetlights wash over the windshield in long, golden streaks as he pulls away from the curb. neither of you says anything for a while. you’re just watching the city drift past the windows—blurry and slow, like a dream you’re not quite awake for. your breathing’s steadier now, but your heart still stutters every time you glance over and catch him looking at you. like you’re something precious. like maybe he still cares. like maybe he never stopped.

chris breaks the silence first, voice soft but clear.

“i should’ve been there sooner.”

you glance at him, brows drawing together. “you didn’t even know i was there.”

“i should’ve known,” he says, jaw clenching slightly. “i should’ve checked. i still have your location. i check it sometimes. not in a creepy way, just... i don’t know. just in case.”

you’re quiet for a moment, heart thudding against your ribs. “i didn’t delete yours either.”

that admission hangs heavy between you for a second, like a truth neither of you had the courage to say out loud until now. chris lets out a breath—more of a sigh, really—and gives your hand another squeeze.

“you never really stopped caring, did you?” he asks, glancing over at you, eyes searching yours.

you shake your head slowly. “no. i tried to. i wanted to. but it never worked.”

he doesn’t say anything right away, but the way his thumb presses against your knuckles says enough. the silence is different now. it’s thick with something unsaid, something electric and fragile and inevitable.

eventually, chris pulls the car into his driveway. he parks, then turns to you again. “do you wanna come in for a bit?”

you nod.

the two of you head inside, the house quiet and dim, the kind of calm you didn’t know you needed until it was wrapping around you. chris leads you through the garage, to avoid nick and matt upstairs, into his room—familiar, unchanged.

you both sit on the edge of the bed for a moment, the air buzzing with unspoken things. finally, he turns toward you fully, his eyes searching yours again.

“i miss you,” he says. just that. simple. honest. like it’s been on the tip of his tongue for months.

you bite your lip, the weight of everything you’ve been holding in crashing into your chest. “i miss you too,” you whisper. “so much.”

and then there’s a pause—a breath, a heartbeat—and chris leans in, slow enough that you could stop it if you wanted to. but you don’t. you don’t move away. you close the space between you instead, meeting him halfway. your lips brush his, soft at first, tentative, like the both of you are still afraid of shattering whatever fragile thing this is.

but the second his hand lifts to cradle your cheek, everything falls into place. the kiss deepens, grows urgent, all that pent-up longing spilling out in the space between your mouths. it’s desperate, familiar, and full of every word you never said.

you shift, leaning into him more, your hands finding their way into his hoodie, clinging to him like he’s the only solid thing left in your world. he kisses you like he’s starving. like he’s been waiting eight months to feel your lips again. and maybe he has.

when you finally pull apart for air, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing hard.

“i never stopped loving you,” he says, voice barely more than a whisper.

“i know,” you murmur. “me neither.”

and then he kisses you again. slower this time, more sure, more steady. and everything feels right again, like you’ve come home after being lost for far too long.

his hand slides from your cheek to your jaw, then down, trailing across your collarbone. you shiver beneath his touch, and he leans in, his lips brushing along your neck, his breath hot and shaky.

“tell me to stop,” he says suddenly, pulling back just a little, eyes burning into yours. “if this is too much, if you’re not ready, just say it, and i swear i’ll stop.”

but you shake your head, breath catching in your throat. “don’t stop.”

he hesitates just one more beat, as if needing to make absolutely sure, and then you’re kissing again. hotter this time, messier, like you’re both trying to make up for all the time lost.

your hands tangle in his hair as he leans you back onto the bed, his hoodie bunched up in your fists. you tug him closer, and he groans softly into your mouth, the sound vibrating through you like lightning.

“can i take this off?” he whispers, tugging at your shirt. you nod, and within seconds your shirt is on the floor of his bedroom.

eventually, you’re both stripped completely naked, his tip teasing your entrance. he touches you like you’re something sacred, something he thought he lost forever but somehow got back. and when he’s finally hovering over you, breath warm against your lips, he murmurs, “are you sure?”

you meet his eyes, fingers brushing along his jaw.

“i’ve never been more sure.”

and when he finally pushes into you, like it means everything, you realize it does.

because it’s not just about comfort. or lust. or missing each other.

it’s about love.

and how it never really left.

not even for a second.

you let out soft whines, producing them into louder moans as he slides in and out of you. chris buries his head in your neck, thrusting into you as you claw at his back, running your hand up to his hair. you let out whimpers and moans, your freshly manicured nails digging into his back as you feel yourself getting closer to your release.

you softly arch your back, your legs shaking as you tug at his hair.

“close, pretty baby?” he whispers into your neck, sucking a soft mark into it.

you nod, shaking. “c’mon, baby. cum for me.”

and with that, you did. you arch your back, letting out a cry of pleasure as you hold onto him, hugging him. “chris, shit.” you whisper, kissing his jaw

he moans as you kiss his draw, still thrusting in and out of you, inching closer to his own release. “where, baby, where?”

“i-inside” you stutter, tugging at his hair.

he releases his seed inside of you, letting out a deep moan into your neck. you let out a shaky breath, hugging him and closing your eyes.

within a couple minutes, the both of you are cleaned up, thighs no longer sticky. you lay naked in bed, limbs tangled together as he holds you, your fingers intertwined.

“m’never letting you go again.” he whispers, softly kissing your temple. “im sorry i did. i was stupid, and its been the worst eight months of my life.”

“it’s okay,” you whisper, voice muffled against his chest. “we’re here now.”

chris tightens his hold on you, like he’s afraid you’ll slip through his fingers if he lets go. the silence between you isn’t uncomfortable—it’s warm, full, like the kind that only comes after something real. your fingers trace lazy patterns across his ribs, memorizing him all over again.

“i don’t want this to be just a one-night thing,” he says after a minute, his voice barely above a whisper. “i don’t want to wake up tomorrow and pretend like this didn’t happen.”

you shift slightly, looking up at him, your cheek pressed to his shoulder. “me neither.”

his eyes meet yours—vulnerable, open, nothing like the boy who walked away eight months ago. this is the boy who showed up the second you needed him, who held your hand like it meant something, who still touches you like you matter.

“we don’t have to figure everything out tonight,” you say softly. “but i don’t want to lose you again.”

he leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead. “you won’t. i promise.”

you close your eyes, letting the rhythm of his heartbeat lull you, the warmth of his skin grounding you. maybe the world’s still spinning too fast, maybe there are still pieces to mend—but for now, you’re here. safe. seen. held.

and in that moment, tangled in sheets and second chances, it feels like enough.

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a/n: i love this guys pls love it too

- aurora ᯓ✮⋆˙

likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! ੈ✩‧��˚

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liberalk1tsch · 19 hours ago

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What do you think Haymitch thought about Gale and his behaviour towards Katniss (and Peeta)?How much did he know about this complicated relationship? I always considered Haymitch to be a rather good judge of the character -which his book imo confirms, so I feel that he would have Gale figured out pretty quickly but at the same time they come from similar backgrounds so that might have clouded his view somehow. Idk, what are your thoughts on that?

this is going to be one of my more unpopular opinions i reckon, but i’m ok with that.

once again — if you can't accept criticism of gale, dni

i’m gonna say it — i don’t think haymitch likes gale whatsoever.

i think he respects him for helping asterid and prim in katniss’ absence during the games and for helping to save the people of d12 from the firebombs, but that’s where he draws the line.

haymitch sees gale's relationship with katniss from a distance — not as her parent (not at first) viewing childhood friends or another love interest, but as someone on the outside looking in. he’s not caught in the emotional tangle; he sees a young man pursuing his sweetheart who’s barely had time to breathe, let alone process everything she’s been through. and while the age gap isn’t massive, haymitch is a district 12 native — he knows that 18 or 20 in the seam isn’t adolescence. it’s adulthood. and that makes his emotional pursuit of katniss feel . . . off.

nobody likes to hear this, but gale is a man. legally. physically. socially. hormonally. emotionally too for the most part, even if that aspect is a bit stunted. he's graduated from school. he works full time in the mines. supports his family. probably pays taxes. is legally able to get married with someone his own age.

it's different from an 18-20 y/o in our society where they might still be finishing up high school, going off to uni, not really being independent adults yet. there's no in-between steps like that in d12 for people between school age and adulthood/career. the responsibilities and expectations are different. by d12 standards, gale's a grown man.

and he uses his free time to hang out with a 17 y/o girl.

if it were just friendship, that would be one thing. but gale clearly wants something more, and he keeps pressing for it, even when katniss is drowning in trauma and fear. haymitch knows what trauma looks like. he lives it everyday. and he also knows what it means to love someone in a way that’s not about possession or control — love that’s protective, patient, and painful.

he sees that in peeta. not just the love, but the sacrifice and restraint. and he recognises it because it mirrors his own. haymitch is the Original Loverboy, and while he can acknowledge that gale does care about katniss, it’s a different kind of care — one that doesn’t always align with her best interest.

what makes it even more layered is that haymitch and gale have near-identical backgrounds. they both grew up in the seam, oldest siblings of fatherless families, raised by mothers who worked as washerwomen. they both broke the law to feed their families. they both watched their homes go up in flames.

haymitch understands gale. he knows what that situation does to a person. he sees the ruthlessness in gale during the rebellion — the tactical coldness, the willingness to sacrifice lives — and while he doesn’t condemn him for it, he knows that it’s not what katniss needs.

so yeah. haymitch respects gale’s tenacity. he understands his grief. but he doesn’t like the way he treats katniss. and he definitely doesn’t trust it.

because katniss finally has people who look out for her, and haymitch is going to make damn sure they’re the kind who deserve her.

#thanks for the ask!#i feel very strongly ab this #the hunger games #thg #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #gale hawthorne #haymitch abernathy #sunrise on the reaping #everlark

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palmersluvr · 3 days ago

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soft haven

summary: you and your boyfriend unwind in bed together after you both had tough days.

warnings: fluff, kissing, cuddling, david lynch mention, twin peaks mention, laura palmer mention, kyle mclachlan mention

notes: i dedicate this to everyone who sent me a request regarding cuddling with lu in bed :)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

your room is your safe haven tonight, a cozy shield from the heaviness in your heart. you’re curled up tight in the middle of the bed you share with your boyfriend, wrapped in the quilt that smells like a mixture of his cologne and your perfume.

you’re lying in bed, propped up by a couple of worn pillows. a folded throw holds your laptop across your lap, its dim glow casting light over your face and the tangled sheets. you’re watching your favourite show, twin peaks, with agent cooper’s steady voice coming through the laptop. it’s been a rough day, and the heavy feeling lingers. your eyes wander, hardly focused on the screen, lost in your thoughts.

for some reason, you felt numb all day. and all your mind was fixated on was getting home to your warm bed, and unwinding with your favorite show. work plodded along, conversations drained you, and all you wanted was to just go home.

you miss luigi and can’t wait for him to walk through the door.

as if the universe somehow managed to read your mind, sure enough, the bedroom door swings open, and there he stands, a gentle smile spreading across his face, instantly brightening the space.

“hey baby,” luigi says softly, his voice a balm. his gaze locks with yours, weary yet warm, and he moves silently to the bed. “missed you today.” he murmurs, leaning close, his lips grazing yours softly at first, then deepening into a heartfelt kiss, each one easing the heaviness of the day.

you sink into him, your hands resting on his shoulders as the kisses deepens. his fingers graze your cheek, drawing you nearer, and the world slips away. honestly, you could kiss luigi for hours and not get bored.

amidst the kisses, you manage to murmur, “how was your day?” your lips still grazing his, unwilling to break the moment.

he hesitates, his forehead pressing gently against yours, a faint sigh slipping out. “awful.” he admits softly, his tone sad, before his lips find yours again, the kiss deeper, as though seeking refuge in your closeness.

you relish in the kiss briefly, but concern for luigi tugs at you. slowly, you ease back, your hand resting gently on his cheek as you look into his eyes. “why, what happened?” you ask tenderly, voice full of care.

you lift the blanket, beckoning him closer. “cmere.”you say softly, guiding him in. he slips beneath the covers beside you, his warmth close as you pull the blanket over you both, ready to hear him out.

luigi nestles closer, his shoulder grazing yours as he exhales softly. you shift to face him, the faint buzz of twin peaks playing on your laptop fading into the background, your attention focusing on him.

“tell me what’s wrong.” you whisper, your hand slipping under the covers to find his, squeezing gently. he leans in, nuzzling his face against your chest, seeking comfort. you run your fingers through his curls, stroking them softly.

his breathing evens out, his face still nuzzled against your boobs. after a pause, he mumbles, “i keep overthinking at work.” his voice carries a hint of frustration. “it’s like… i’m second guessing every move i make, worried i’ll mess something up. today was just… too much.” he presses himself closer, as if your warmth could untangle his mind.

your fingers run through his curls, gentle and calming. “lu, you’re so smart.” you murmur, your voice full of warmth. “and i’m not just saying that because you’re my boyfriend, there’s really no need to doubt yourself when it comes to anything. you’ve got this incredible mind, one that’s extremely rare to find in people.”

you pull him closer beneath the blanket, the laptop’s faint glow forgotten, hoping he can feel how much you believe in him.

he lets out a soft sigh. “i guess…” he mumbles, his tone uncertain but softening. after a pause, he shifts, his voice quieter. “anyway, that’s enough about me and my bullshit. what about you? you seem sad.”

you hesitate for a second, your fingers slowing in his curls as the day’s weight settles back in. “i’ve just felt… off.” you confess, your voice faint. “i’ve got no clue why, but i just felt so shitty all day, and nothing seemed to shake it.” you lean into him, feeling soothed by his warmth.

luigi lifts his gaze to yours, his eyes warm with quiet concern. “i’m sorry baby, it really hurts me to know you felt that way.” he says softly, his voice sincere. he places tender kisses on your breasts, his arms tightening around your torso. “how about we just stay in bed together for the rest of the evening?”

he pauses, glancing towards the glow of your laptop. “watcha watching?”

your expression brightens, a flicker chasing away your prior sadness. "it’s twin peaks!" you say excitedly, voice warming as you gaze at him. "david lynch directs it, and basically, this girl called laura palmer gets murdered, and kyle mclachlan plays this fbi agent who goes to the town to investigate it, and sooo many weird and supernatural things happen."

you glance at him, anticipating his response, only to find him fast asleep, his head nestled against your chest like a cozy baby.

you roll your eyes, giggle and kiss his head, pulling him closer.

your silly, silly boyfriend.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

hope u all like this :,)

previous work

#palmersluvr #palmersluvr works #luigi mangione fluff #luigi thoughts #luigi mangione fic #luigi mangione fanfiction #luigi mangione x reader #luigi mangione imagine #luigi mangione oneshot #luigi mangione drabble #luigi mangione x y/n

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seitmai · 12 hours ago

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Many thoughts

But the reason you came tonight is staring at you with warm, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that calms the raging nerves in your stomach. “You having a good time?” “I am now that you’re here.” You say playfully, and you hear Nat scoff lightly from beside you.

Nat can't hold it in haha but I get it, it's so obvious haha

It really should be a crime to walk around looking so good that he draws the stare of every woman within a ten meter radius, head held high like he knows it too.

Bringing this out because it seems fitting 🤭

But while everyone else has their eyes on him, whispering about how gorgeous he is, Bucky’s looking at you, making your stomach somersault. And then the stunning smile he flashes just for you has you melting into a puddle.

🥰🥰🥰

Somehow being alone with him now, even though it’s a regular occurrence back in your apartment, fills your stomach with churning anxiety. Perhaps it’s the expectation that Nat believes something will happen between the two of you, even though you’re well aware that’s a physical impossibility.

Nat is just manifesting and she has eyes and says what she is seeing😅🤷🏻‍♀️

“Thanks for coming tonight, I know you don’t know Sam all that well yet and would probably prefer to be snuggled under a blanket at home reading, but I want you to meet my friends. And I want them to meet the people who are important to me too.”

He is so sweet 🥹

“So… when’s the wedding?” Nat comments, sidling up to you, however it doesn’t distract you from watching Bucky walk away, admiring his strapping, muscular back and his ass that looks divine.

Nat is getting ready to be a maid of honor and I would say rather soner than later 🤭

It’s when you turn to look at your best friend, a brazen sparkle in her eye, do you miss the way Bucky longingly looks back at you from the bar.

It's always the missed looks!

“C’mon, don’t be butt hurt that no one’s interested in you. Attractive people deserve other attractive people.” His words, laced with so much spite, feel like a kick to the teeth. Even though he’s a nobody, someone who will disappear into the masses that make up this enormous city, it’s just another reminder that not a single person in this populous metropolis wants you, in particular the one person who owns your heart and sleeps in the next room.

Excuse me?! The audacity of some people is outrageous 😤

“You really think that’s gonna make me more likely to help you out?” You turn to finally look at the man, and as attractive as he is, there is a pretentious air to him, a conceited smirk you’d love to smack off his face. It’s a face of a man that has never been told ‘no’ before in his life. “Fuck off.”

Say it louder for the people in the back 👏🏻

In contrast to how intimidating Bucky looks, his touch is gentle as he herds you behind him protectively.

🥹🥹🥹

“What the fuck did you just say?” You barely recognise the voice as Bucky’s, he practically growls at the man, picking him up by the shirt front and slamming him into the wall behind you. Bucky’s positive he’s never had rage flow through his veins like this before, never genuinely wanted to snap someone’s neck and step over their lifeless body until this very second. Anyone who hurts you deserves an even worse fate than that.

Oh and we alle know he could

The bastard then has the gall to mumble out ‘it was just a joke’ as he raises his hands in defence, as if he wasn’t the piece of shit to provoke this entire confrontation.

Not the lamest "excuse" to ever exist 🙄

“I dare you to say that again and see where it gets you.” Bucky longs to punch his fist through this man’s nose, the only reason currently stopping him is a potential assault charge, but then he hears you sniffling behind him and he wants to throw caution to the wind.

He is ready to murder someone for her, but not for her to be sad or uncomfortable

“Barnes, you need to go after her.” Natasha implores, interrupting the intense staring match between the two men and saving Bucky from spending the night in a jail cell. The mention of you is the only distraction which spares this man’s face from being rearranged.

Thank you Nat! 👏🏻

Bucky practically throws the guy on the ground, searching for you in the sea of patrons staring at the commotion, before chasing after you as if his life depends on it - because it does, you are the reason his heart beats just that little bit quicker every morning at the prospect of seeing you curled up in your armchair, having fallen asleep reading one of your books and him needing to gently wake you from your slumber; you are the reason he stops off at the store on his way home from work and spends half an hour at the grocery store most days, to ensure the pantry is fully stocked with your favourite snacks; you are the reason he has not brought a single woman back to his apartment since moving in, no one on the face of this earth could could make him feel the way you do, turn him on naked in his bed how you do dancing around the kitchen in your pyjamas. He loves you. And his whole world is crashing down around him knowing you’re in any type of pain.

🥹🥰🥹🥰

The completely shattered way you look back at him, with teary eyes that are usually so full of wonder and vivacity, shreds Bucky’s heart into so many pieces he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to put it back together again. He’s going to kill that man for making you feel like a fragment of the beautiful person he has come to adore.

He is so hurt and angry because of her pain 🥺💔

But you know Bucky’s arms, the embrace of the man you love, is also the only cure for the malignant disease which has now infected your mind, so you put up no defence to him pulling you in for a secure, reassuring hug. Bucky’s chest, smelling strongly of cinnamon, is the safest place you’ve ever known. Even though you’re still consumed by what was said back inside the bar, Bucky holds you so tightly that you have no doubt that he will comfort you through the worst of it without him needing to say so.

I get it, I think a hug from bucky like that would heal me too

Bucky’s fingers interlace with yours as he leads you up to your apartment, the feel of his large hand engulfing yours eases the feeling of taking up too much space in the world. Even though you’re much wider than him in size, there are parts of your tall roommate that somehow miraculously still make you feel smaller than him.

🥹🥹🥹

He sits on your couch, the one you’ve sat on many a lonely night before you even knew Bucky, his arms outstretched in a way which asks you to curl up on him in a hug. “No, Bucky I’ll crush you.” His heart cleaves in two with just how defeated your small voice is. It physically hurts him that you think of yourself like that and not as the most beautiful, voluptuous goddess that he knows you are. “You’re not gonna crush me. Now c’mere.” His voice is soft but his hands are unyielding as he practically picks you up and deposits you in his lap, not taking no for an answer.

And if, he would die a happy man

“You’re so beautiful.” He whispers with a kiss to your temple. It almost sounds like he actually believes it - but your mind simply cannot accept that as fact, especially not after the humiliation surging through you from the strangers taunt earlier. Bucky so badly wants you to be able to see yourself the way he sees you, how vibrant his life becomes when you so much as walk into a room, how all his anxieties fade to nonexistence when you smile at him. How you are everything he has ever dreamed of.

“Stop. Please stop putting yourself down. You are gorgeous, stunning, and so much more than just my roommate.” He says sincerely, wiping away a stray tear as it trickles over the apple of your cheek. “You are my Sunrise, the stunning star at the centre of my universe that lights up my entire life.”

And he 100% means it with his whole chest

“My whole fucking world comes to a standstill when you enter a room and like a magnet I can’t help but be drawn to you. You make my heart beat out of my chest just by smiling at me. There is not a day where I don’t wish to be back home here with you, where it’s just the two of us and the world outside holds no consequence because you’re all I’ve ever needed, all I’ve ever wanted. Can you really not see how powerful the hold you have over me is?”

🥰🥰🥰

If this was written in one of the thousands of romance novels you’ve read, you wouldn’t hesitate to believe how much love the protagonists have for one another, but because it’s happening to you, that you are the heroine of this story, your mind is conditioned to reject the premise altogether.

Noo!! This is real and he is the trope come to life

At the mention of the word ‘love’ Bucky pulls your face close with a hand on either side of your face, and kisses you so forcefully the rest of your sentence is muffled and completely forgotten about. You haven’t kissed someone in such a long time, and your stomach prickles with nerves as you frantically try remembering the movements you’re meant to make with your lips, where your tongue should be, that you should close your eyes. But as long as it has been, you’re sure the sparks you feel as his warm lips caress yours is because it is James Barnes kissing you, and not just anyone.

Ahh finally 🥰

He smells and tastes divine, like sweet honey and sharp cinnamon, his lips soft as pillows that move hungrily against yours, like he can’t get enough of you either, and when he moans into your mouth you swear you see the gates of heaven.

I would happily die in that moment too 🤭

Maybe you can’t understand why Bucky feels this way about you when there are far more attractive people in the world. But maybe that doesn’t matter. Perhaps your love for him is part of what makes you the most beautiful person in the world in his eyes, the way his love for you is why you find him the most alluring man you have ever met. And that will forever be enough for you.

The awareness that it’s him knocks all the breath from your lungs and you need to come up for air much sooner than you would have liked, but Bucky gazes up at you with that familiar warmth that you never would have believed was something more than just friendship, but now seems like it was the clue all along that the two of you were never just roommates.

It was always there 🥹

🥰🥰🥰

Right Here, Waiting (2)

Roommate!Bucky Barnes x Curvy!Fem!Reader

< < PART 1

Summary: While out with Bucky’s friends for Sam’s birthday, someone makes a rude comment about your body, leading Bucky to prove just how beautiful he thinks you are.

Prompt: “Hey. Pick on someone your own size.” for @avengers-assemble-bingo’s 108th Birthday Celebration

Warnings: strictly 18+ due to the AU, TRIGGER WARNING internal monologue references reader having issues with weight & eating, a man commenting on readers appearance/body in a negative and unprovoked way, VERY insecure reader, slight angst with belief of unrequited love, idiots in love who finally stop being so oblivious!

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: so I was triple dared by @intrepidacious to write more for these two and who am I to break the sacred rules of triple dares? They do deserve their happy ending 🩵 banners by @vase-of-lilies

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You don’t want to be here. Not really.

Even though you’ve got Nat by your side and you’re essentially invisible as a group of Bucky’s mates celebrate his best friend’s birthday, there’s something about being in a new part of town, and with a group of people you don’t know that well, which makes you feel on edge.

But the reason you came tonight is staring at you with warm, sparkling blue eyes, and a smile that calms the raging nerves in your stomach.

“You having a good time?”

“I am now that you’re here.” You say playfully, and you hear Nat scoff lightly from beside you.

He looks heavenly, as if a statue of a Greek god was animated to life, donning a shirt which perfectly matches the colour of his irises, which shows off his bulging biceps, and just enough length to his perfectly styled hair which makes you want to run your fingers through it.

It really should be a crime to walk around looking so good that he draws the stare of every woman within a ten meter radius, head held high like he knows it too.

Surely there’s no way he can’t see the effect he has on you, how you become a giggling fool in his presence. But that just serves as a reminder that after three months living together and him not making a move, he is very clearly not interested in you like that.

“I shouldn’t have taken so long to come find you then.” You know he’s only joking, but in reality you and Nat have barely had the time to wish Sam a happy birthday and set yourself up at one of the high top tables. Bucky hasn’t exactly wasted any time in coming to talk to you.

“Well it would have been rude of you not to say hello to the birthday boy first.”

“Ahh I see enough of that punk anyway.” He jests, as if he also doesn’t see you every single day at your shared apartment, but you don’t mention that to him.

You notice Nat walking over by to corner of the room in a group with the man of the hour, not even bothering to announce her departure unlike last weekend at your local bar with her attempt to push you and Bucky together.

The implication that you are a prominent person in Bucky’s life gives life to butterflies in your tummy. Even though you’re sure the intention of his words are that you’ve become good friends while living together, it’s ammunition your mind can use to assemble a pipe dream that you serve a much more significant role in your roommate’s life.

“If they’re important to you, then they’re important to me too.” Silly boy doesn’t know you’d do absolutely anything for him, including facing your social anxiety of meeting new people if it means you get to see him happy.

“Well you’re the most important.”

It’s when he says things like this, accompanied with that earnestly affectionate smile, that hope builds brick by brick in your chest - you don’t say that to someone who’s just a friend, right?

But if he somehow did feel that way about you, ignoring all the reasons why someone as attractive and charming as him could do so much better than you, then why had he not made a move?

You come to the same conclusion you always do when Bucky comes out with these overly sweet statements - he’s referring to you as being very good friends. Roommates who would consider each other family.

Regardless, with this small sentence he’s rendered you utterly speechless, your mouth so dry and brings a ferocious heat to your cheeks that you couldn’t contribute to conversation even if you had to.

There’s a silence which passes between you, not awkward like either of you are waiting for the other to come up with some ridiculous small talk, but content, that even in a room packed with people to speak to you’re happy just being in each other's presence, words aren’t needed.

“Oh, how rude of me, you don’t have a drink - you want your usual?” You had never expected him to buy you a drink, but it warms your heart how considerate he is, that he takes the initiative to make it his priority even when it arguably doesn’t affect him.

“Yes please.” You manage to mutter out.

The cheeky wink he shoots you before heading up to the bar only further contributing to you melting into a puddle on the floor. He could do anything and have you in a trance, but when it’s small, doting actions reserved solely for you like this, that have your heart leaping out of your chest.

It’s when you turn to look at your best friend, a brazen sparkle in her eye, do you miss the way Bucky longingly looks back at you from the bar.

That relentless hope you’re continually trying to shake returns, inflating in your chest when she talks in a way that your romance with Bucky is inevitable, when you spend every waking second actively pulling yourself back to reality on earth from dreaming on cloud nine.

“Nat you know he doesn’t like me like that.” You repeat for what feels like the millionth time.

“I beg to differ, you’d been here less than two minutes before he approached you.” The gleam in her eye has become a familiar one, that screams ‘told you so’, as if this was conclusive evidence.

“He knows we don’t know a lot of people here and just wanted to make sure we felt comfortable. That’s what friends do.” At least that’s what you are telling yourself to help suppress any irrational wish your brain could conjure at the reasoning why Bucky sought you out so quickly after your arrival.

“Well he only asked you didn’t he? It was like I was invisible to him.”

“He just knows me better, that's all, we do live together you know.” Is how you justify his behaviour, but you can tell Nat isn’t having a bar of it with the cynical look she shoots at you.

“You keep telling yourself that sweetie. That boy has it bad for you, but you silly kids will work it out eventually.” She says with a certainty that puzzles you, as if there is no question that you and Bucky are destined to end up together. She flashes a quick smile before affectionately patting your hand and making her way up to the bar.

There’s a moment where you’re left alone, pondering Nat’s words and if there is any truth to them - your best friend is honest to a fault, and isn’t the type to blatantly lie to you to spare your feelings. Perhaps there’s something she can see that you can’t, or won’t let yourself notice.

The buoyant hope you always try pushing down floats in your stomach and for once you revel in the small possibility that perhaps you’ve been wrong all along about Bucky. As unlikely as it is, maybe your feelings aren’t completely unrequited.

You feel someone next to you before you hear them speak, a voice that is unfamiliar and which sends a tense vexation shivering down your spine.

“That little redhead friend of yours is gorgeous, think you could introduce me?” It’s not the first time a stranger has approached you interested in Nat. She’s beautiful, slim and wears dresses that flaunt her toned figure, but it nevertheless causes an ache deep in your chest that you're never the person the man approaching you is attracted to.

Just once it would be nice to be the woman they notice, the one lusted after.

“She’s not interested.” You don’t even have to look at the man to know Nat wouldn’t be interested in someone who didn’t have the guts to approach her directly.

You hope that response is enough to send the man on his way, but your experience tells you men with an ego the size of a Mount Everest don’t give up so easily when they have a gorgeous woman in their sights.

“C’mon, don’t be butt hurt that no one’s interested in you. Attractive people deserve other attractive people.”

His words, laced with so much spite, feel like a kick to the teeth. Even though he’s a nobody, someone who will disappear into the masses that make up this enormous city, it’s just another reminder that not a single person in this populous metropolis wants you, in particular the one person who owns your heart and sleeps in the next room.

“Don’t be a bitter bitch about it.”

Without you realising, Bucky had noticed you looking uncomfortable in conversation with this repulsive man, and stalked across the entire length of the room, forgetting about your drinks at the bar, to come to your aid.

“Hey mate, how about you pick on someone your own size huh?” Bucky looks dauntingly large as he steps up to face the man, at least a head taller than him with broad shoulders that make the other guy look like a lanky schoolboy in comparison.

In contrast to how intimidating Bucky looks, his touch is gentle as he herds you behind him protectively.

“Why? Because the whore is so much bigger than everyone else here.”

His mocking tone cuts through you like a sword, hollowing out your insides. You sense all eyes in the room turn to you, and you shrivel into yourself in juxtaposition to how Bucky shines when the centre of attention.

It feels like the air in the room has been suctioned out, your lungs and throat burning from the absence of oxygen, or maybe it’s just your lack of will to take a breath, wanting the world to engulf you and your existence to end right here.

It’s hard enough to live with the understanding of how much bigger you are than every other person in the room when it is etched into your frontal lobe so that you are reminded of it every passing second, but for someone else to actually express that notion aloud, for all the terrible thoughts you believe about yourself to be confirmed by a stranger who only needs to have seen you once in your life to recognise this about you, is enough for you to start decaying from the inside out.

It’s not just you who thinks that, now every single person in the bar is fully aware of how much physical space you’re taking up, how much weight you carry on your distinctly pudgy stomach, around your jawline which is soft unlike Bucky’s sharp mandible, how your thighs rub together when you walk, not having a gap between them as Nat does.

“What the fuck did you just say?” You barely recognise the voice as Bucky’s, he practically growls at the man, picking him up by the shirt front and slamming him into the wall behind you.

Bucky’s positive he’s never had rage flow through his veins like this before, never genuinely wanted to snap someone’s neck and step over their lifeless body until this very second. Anyone who hurts you deserves an even worse fate than that.

The bastard then has the gall to mumble out ‘it was just a joke’ as he raises his hands in defence, as if he wasn’t the piece of shit to provoke this entire confrontation.

He loves you. And his whole world is crashing down around him knowing you’re in any type of pain.

“Sunrise, please.” You're not sure what he’s pleading for exactly, but he doesn’t ask again once you stop scurrying out of the bar. He reaches for you when the fresh air outside hits your face with a crispness that makes your tears sting more than they had inside, tugging on your shoulder for you to turn around and face him.

He’s going to kill that man for making you feel like a fragment of the beautiful person he has come to adore.

Unintelligible words fall from your lips but you don’t have the brain capacity to articulate yourself better when your mind is rerouting all your thoughts to one central nucleus - how disgustingly large you are.

Typically you’d be mortified about Bucky seeing you in such a distressed state, because not only are you huge, you must also look revoltingly unattractive with tears flowing down your cheeks, ruining your makeup, and snot dripping from your nose.

Bucky’s chest, smelling strongly of cinnamon, is the safest place you’ve ever known. Even though you’re still consumed by what was said back inside the bar, Bucky holds you so tightly that you have no doubt that he will comfort you through the worst of it without him needing to say so.

It’s a blur of tears, head throbbing, chest aching and Bucky’s soft yet vigilant hands as you make your way home. He leads you into a cab, buckling your seatbelt for you, him taking the middle seat so you can rest your head on his shoulder, his calloused hand resting on your thigh, soothingly rubbing gentle circles with his thumb over your soft skin.

Not a single word is spoken on your journey, comfortable with the solace his presence brings you, and finally feeling secure being miles away from the environment that led you to feeling as giant as an elephant trapped in a zoo enclosure with mice.

His keys get thrown on the hall table with a clang. The familiar environment brings you peace, even if Bucky holding your hand is a new sensation which has nervousness prickling your stomach.

He sits on your couch, the one you’ve sat on many a lonely night before you even knew Bucky, his arms outstretched in a way which asks you to curl up on him in a hug.

“No, Bucky I’ll crush you.”

His heart cleaves in two with just how defeated your small voice is. It physically hurts him that you think of yourself like that and not as the most beautiful, voluptuous goddess that he knows you are.

“You’re not gonna crush me. Now c’mere.” His voice is soft but his hands are unyielding as he practically picks you up and deposits you in his lap, not taking no for an answer.

His strong arms snake around you, large hands resting on a pocket of fat on your waist that has always plagued your insecurities, but Bucky holds you tenderly, almost lovingly, and the self doubt slips from your mind and all you can focus on is how close you are to him.

“Bucky, you don’t have to lie.”

“Sunrise, I’m not lying.” He retorts almost instantly, not wanting to allow any time for doubt to creep into your mind.

“You’re my roommate, you can’t very well call me an ugly pig, which is exactly what I am.”

Bucky so badly wants you to be able to see yourself the way he sees you, how vibrant his life becomes when you so much as walk into a room, how all his anxieties fade to nonexistence when you smile at him.

How you are everything he has ever dreamed of.

You sleep one very thin wall away, and all he can ever think of as he falls asleep on his own every night is if you are in the next room thinking of him too, wishing that your dreams will be consumed by him as his are by you.

Never in a million years did you imagine these words coming out of Bucky Barnes’ mouth. You stare at him, jaw slack in utter shock, waiting for the moment where he takes it all back or to clarify that you’ve misinterpreted the intention and in fact he really means that you’re good friends, just very good friends.

This must be your hopeful heart overreacting after such an upsetting day, because surely he cannot actually think of you as more than that.

“It hurts me that you can’t see how impossibly beautiful you are, how you’re the most stunning woman everywhere you go, how I can’t take my eyes off you even for a minute whether it’s lazing around here in your pyjamas or all dolled up for a night out. You will always be the most beautiful woman in any room to me.”

Your chest feels like it’s about to explode any second with how much warmth is ballooning in your lungs. This isn’t happening. Surely you bumped your head getting out of the cab and this is all just a dream your mind has concocted to heal from the anguish sustained earlier.

“You can’t possibly mean that.” You shake your head, attempting to pull yourself out of the hallucination your brain is composing.

Bucky's eyes flit down to your lips, slightly chapped and dehydrated from crying your eyes out, but when they return to your gaze again, there’s a palpable desperation which quivers in his pupils.

There should be no doubt, given his confession, how much significance you have in Bucky’s heart, and yet you’re in disbelief, utter shock, unable to truly comprehend why he cares for you in such a way, when there are so many other women who are hotter, skinnier, funnier than you.

“Bucky…” You mumble, your mind is spinning too much to form a coherent thought, let alone articulating just how consequential your feelings for the man whose lap you're sitting in are.

“Even if you don’t feel the same way, I need you to know how beautiful you are to me.” And that’s when your brain kicks into gear - you cannot stand any insinuation that your feelings for your roommate are simply platonic, and not the all consuming, devoted love that fills your heart with as much sunshine as on a cloudless summer day.

Especially not after his admission.

“Not feel the same? Bucky, I’ve been in love with you since you mov-”

You haven’t kissed someone in such a long time, and your stomach prickles with nerves as you frantically try remembering the movements you’re meant to make with your lips, where your tongue should be, that you should close your eyes. But as long as it has been, you’re sure the sparks you feel as his warm lips caress yours is because it is James Barnes kissing you, and not just anyone.

When his tongue slips into your mouth, the realisation hits you square in the chest that you’re kissing your Bucky, the man who sleeps in the adjacent room, who cooks you breakfast shirtless in your kitchen, who always thinks to bring home your favourite food after a long day at work where he could arguably only want to think about himself.

The man you love. And who reciprocates that ardent feeling.

“You love me, huh?” He says in such a playfully taunting tone that makes you smile.

“Yeah… but I’m your Sunrise aren’t I?”

“That you are. My beautiful. Stunning. Gorgeous. Sexy. Perfect Sunrise.” Bucky places sweet kisses to your lips between each adjective, each one lasting a little longer than the previous. “I love you too.”

Maybe you can’t understand why Bucky feels this way about you when there are far more attractive people in the world. But maybe that doesn’t matter.

Perhaps your love for him is part of what makes you the most beautiful person in the world in his eyes, the way his love for you is why you find him the most alluring man you have ever met. And that will forever be enough for you.

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angel-writes-here · 2 days ago

Text

Do You Love Me

G-Dragon x AFAB! Reader Synopsis: You meet your ex after his show. Warnings: None really. Some fluff. A/N: If you'd like to be tagged in future fics let me know! PART 1

Jiyong practically lept out of bed after your conversation, much to his managers relief. He took a shower, washed his hair and brushed his teeth, he decided it was time to become the bona fide G-Dragon again, even if only for the night.

At the venue, the crowd is cheering, people are bustling back stage and Jiyong’s heart is racing against his ribcage.

“Has she shown up?” His voice is frantic as he puts on his mic pack.

“Not yet, she’ll be here,” his manager tries to reassure him. You had shown up actually, but instead of waiting backstage you chose to sit in the crowd. You hadn’t let anyone know, you didn’t want to be any kind of distraction. You wanted him to know that you aren’t the reason he is who he is.

The lights go down, the music starts and there he is, strong and radiant along side his best friends. You manage to stay out of view of the man you once loved, the one you aren’t sure you’re completely over yet almost until the end of the show.

He scans the crowd constantly looking for you, his smile faltering when he doesn’t find you, until the last song, One Last Dance begins and he spots you. He stops mid stride and stares you down the whole first half of the song.

His gaze is intense, but you can’t look away form him. When his verse comes up, he hops down from the stage and stands right in front of you by the barriers, serenading you in front of everyone, drawing millions of eyes to the both of you in the crowd and on screen.

“Just one last dance.”

He cups your face and fans are screaming around you. His touch feels like velvety and comfortable, something you’ve deeply missed. He smiles at you before returning to the stage for the outro of the song.

At the end of the night, you find his manager and he sneaks you back stage. Jiyong is sprinting off the stage instantly looking for you. He goes back to the green room, no sign of you. He looks around back stage, not a single trace you were ever there. It’s not until he finally changes that you knock on his dressing room door. He opens it and freezes. He really hadn’t thought this far, what he’d say or do. He drags his eyes up and down your outfit, one he recognized from your very first date. He doesn’t think, just pulls you to him and shuts the door behind you. His grip is strong, like that of cement. You don’t speak; you just hold each other. You start humming a tune and wrap your arms around his neck, swaying with him in the room.

The two of you dance for a moment before you whisper his name.

“Jiyong.”

He pulls back and looks at you, hands still tight around your waist. He searches your eyes, still bewildered he’s holding you again. He leans his forehead against yours.

“I missed you,” he chokes out. He couldn’t possibly pull you any closer, and yet somehow, he does. You can feel his breath against your lips, the heat from his body intoxicating in the intimate moment.

“Jagi, I’m so sorry,” he whispers inches from your lips, a stray tear making its way down his cheek.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” before he can finish your lips crash into his, longing and fervent. The kiss is intense, as if neither of you can take being physically separated from a moment longer.

Your lungs start to burn from lack of oxygen so you pull away for a moment, both of you panting, fanning each other with your hard breathing.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” he tries to explain, “I was drunk and I’m sorry. It’s no excuse but I can’t take it back. Y/n losing you,” you cup his cheek.

“Shh, shh,” you try to comfort him.

“I know, baby. I know you’re sorry.” He sighs in relief, but his body is still tense under your touch.

“I swear if you give me another chance, it won’t happen again. I need you like I need air. This means nothing, all of it pales in comparison to you. If you aren’t here, I can’t do this anymore.”

“Jiyong that’s not true, you did it tonight without knowing if I was even here.”

“It still wasn’t the same,” he mumbles.

“Please tell me you still love me,” his words are small, his voice weak due to fear of your rejection.

“I still love you,” you offer him a small smile.

“I love you more than you’ll ever know.” He says and you can’t help but kiss his soft lips again.

“Come home,” he pleads.

“That was the plan,” you smirk he grins from ear to ear as he pulls you into an almost suffocating hug.

Tags: @breakmeoff

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relia-robot-writes · 1 day ago

Text

Previously

I stood in the bathroom staring at the mirror, still covered in steam from Lilith's shower. I'd been standing there for several minutes. I could vaguely make out the shape of my new face, greenish and strange. I half-reached towards the mirror to wipe it clean so I could really see it, then let my hand fall to my side for the fifth time. I was trembling, staring at the softly glowing eyes of my reflection through the mist as it slowly cleared away. I just couldn't...

I just couldn't. I needed to, and I couldn't. Would the real me, the real Kathrine, have been braver, in my place?

"Hey," said a voice from my right, and I jumped. Kathrine stood before me, her hand half-extended to touch me. She let it fall. "It's all right. I think you look kind of cute, actually."

I looked at her, seeing her face - my old face - like it was a mirror, but really looking for the first time. Brown, curly hair, soft cheeks, full lips. Stunning blue eyes that looked both kind and worried about me. I knew that other people had found me cute, before, but I'd never quite believed it. Not really. But... Kathrine was cute. Like, cute cute. I got lost in her eyes for a moment.

She glanced towards the mirror, looking guilty. "Here, we can do it together, okay?" Her hand reached for mine, and without thinking I reached back. Hand in hand, we reached forward and wiped off the mirror.

My new face was green, dark green, circuitboard green, an image solidified by the golden wiring running its way all around my features. It was segmented into smaller plates, and I could see servos and pistons in the cracks between when I moved. My nose wasn't the skeletal hole I'd been dreading, but instead a kind of peak in the central plate with two narrow holes leading inside. Without the cartilage and fat, my new face looked smaller, things reduced in detail, like a sketch instead of a full drawing. The exceptions were my eyes - golden, with wide black irises, lit from within by some kind of status LED - and my lips. They were some kind of translucent grey silicone cushion which stretched and moved as the underlying plates shifted beneath it. In various places on the plating, more status LEDs shone in a variety of colors, blues and yellows and reds. I reached up my hand to touch my face, and could feel the ridges of the circuitry and the bumps of the LEDs just as my cheek felt the artificial softness of my fingers.

"You're beautiful," Kathrine said, looking at me through the mirror. She turned to face me, our hands still linked, and when I twisted around to face her, she placed her hand just under my chin, very gently. I gasped softly at the touch, and she carefully moved her thumb up to touch my lips. I parted them without thinking, barely daring to breathe as she rubbed her thumb along them. "They're so soft," she murmured to herself. Her face was very close. I tilted my head slightly, and she did too. My other hand went to her waist, and we drew closer together-

And then the doorbell rang. Both of us sprang away from each other, cheeks glowing in different but very similar ways. "I, uh, I better go- that's probably- I mean, it might be- uh, I'll be back," she said, looking down and away.

She spun around to go, and on impulse I grabbed her arm. She glanced back at me, and somehow I managed to stammer out, "I- I think you're really pretty, too!" She blushed harder, and made as if she was going to say something dismissive, but I cut her off. "I know! I know you don't believe it. I didn't. But you are!" I wasn't sure exactly what I looked like when I was blushing, but it felt like the room was practically on fire with how my cheeks felt. "You are."

She was left speechless. I glanced up to try to look her in the eyes, and I saw that they were wet with almost-tears. The doorbell rang again, and I let her hand go so she could wipe her eyes before answering.

---

I decided to sit at the top of the stairs and listen in on the conversation below.

"Agent Franklin, hello. Another round of questions?" Kathrine sounded tired, and her voice was still a little wobbly.

There was a brief electronic noise, and then a reserved, feminine voice said, "No, ma'am, just checking in on you after last night's assault concern. I got your message that you were safe, but you know I had to come and verify that in person."

"Well, as you can see, I'm as human as the next woman," said Kathrine. I snorted quietly.

"So you are, ma'am. As long as I'm here, can I ask you a few more questions? There's some things I want to clear up."

A sigh. "Sure, Agent Franklin. Come on in, meet my wife."

The conversation drifted into the living room where it was harder to hear. I strained my ears, but didn't dare go downstairs myself. I don't know what this mysterious agent's view of me would be, but I really didn't want to risk getting shot at again.

"Mrowp?"

I looked down and saw Drake, our orange cat (their orange cat, I was an intruder and didn't deserve him) staring at me. Hesitantly, I put out my knuckles towards him. How would he react now that I was...

He immediately bumped his tiny head into my knuckles and rubbed past them to get onto my lap. He rose up, paws landing on my shoulder, and he sniffed at my face. I held still. For a long moment, I wasn't sure what he would do; then, with a happy "Brrrowt!", he headbutted me on the cheek and curled right up in my lap, purring like a motorboat.

"Ohhhh! Tiny boy! Tiny baby boy," I crooned at him, scratching underneath his chin. I could have cried, if my tear ducts were still working. "Oh, buddy, you don't even know how much that means to me. You don't even know! Do you? Do you baby boy?" I got my other hand in behind his ears. "Ohhhhh, baby boy!"

There was a shout, and I looked up right into the bright green eyes of a woman with dark skin wearing a black suit and holding a gun in her hands. I froze, causing Drake to mrowl in protest. Kathrine was right behind her, also frozen, uncertain what to do.

"Um," I said, as the barrel of the gun held steady at the floor. "Agent Franklin, I presume?"

---

"It's vital evidence in our case!"

"She is a person and she deserves rights just as much as any of us. I won't let you take her away!"

We'd reconvened in the living room. The conversation between Agent Franklin and Kathrine had become a shouting match, but at least the gun was holstered again. I sat on the couch, making myself as small as possible. I didn't dare raise my voice - what if she saw me as just another aggressive evil robot?

"It isn't a person. That was the whole point of them," said Agent Franklin, exasperated. "You're being fooled by a trick you already know is fake. Look at it! It's not human!"

I burrowed further into myself, but Lilith snaked her hand into mine and squeezed it. Despite myself, I looked up to see her smiling at me. She turned back towards the conversation without letting go. "Agent, it doesn't matter if she's human or not. She's a part of our family now," my eyes widened as the words sank in, and I nearly missed the next part, "so if you want to claim her, you'd better come back with a warrant." I stared at her, open-mouthed, then glanced at Agent Franklin. Her face was knotted in a mix of anger and concern.

After a moment, she sighed. "Fifth one today. I keep trying to tell you people these things are dangerous, but nobody listens to me."

I breathed a sigh of relief. Kathrine sat back down, looking smug. "Ah, yes, the dangerous robotgirl, petter of cats and holder of hands."

Franklin's resigned look turned sour. "I mean it, ma'am. They may not have weapons, but they can kill just as easily as any person with the flip of a switch. It may look docile now, but what happens if its creators return?"

Kathrine's smile turned brittle. "I've told you before, Agent. We've isolated their control pathways and found ways to disable them. I turned off her receiver myself this morning. She's safe." she stood, walking to the door. "It's been nice to see you, Agent Franklin. If you have any more questions, I'm happy to answer them over the phone." She opened the door, and Agent Franklin took the hint. She nodded to Lilith and Kathrine before she left, leaving me with just a piercing look.

Kathrine closed the door behind her, stood there for a moment, then collapsed onto the floor. "Holy shit," she breathed. "I thought for sure I was gonna get myself arrested. Fuck."

I drew further back into the couch and let out a shuddering breath. "I thought I was going to get scrapped."

I felt Lilith's hand leave mine and I folded my arms over my knees. Of course she'd want to comfort her real wife. It made sense. My breathing hastened, beginning to shudder, until I felt the couch jerk as someone dropped onto it, leaning against me. A moment later, a blanket was draped over the two of us, and I opened my eyes to see Lilith leaning down to hug Kathrine and I together. She squeezed us tightly and said, "You both did great. Stay there and be cozy for a minute. I'll make us some tea."

Still shivering from nerves, our hands found each other and squeezed tight under the blanket.

#relia writes #eggbug writes #microfiction #science fiction #urban fantasy #relias evil clone #got a little long this time #sorry i just didnt want to break the flow

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cheol-e-kat · 4 hours ago

Note

HIIII if it's okay can i ask about if there will be more of the anon s3x with cheol? it was sooo good - plz a part 2

haiiihi - so i got a lot of asks for a part two and i genuinely hope you all like it - let me know in comments, anons, whatever - i want to know if this cheol delivers hehe

♡ kat

p.s. this is a part two, so maybe read part one [ anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing ]

master list & tag list

𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒖𝒑 𝒕𝒐 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒑𝒕. 𝟐

previous bingo squares: anon sex + hair pulling + mask wearing

pairing: choi seungcheol / f!reader

summary: y/n was dressed as a cat for halloween when she encountered a masked stranger who seemed to love everything about her…now she knows who it is

now she wants to know if it was more than a one-time thing

word count: 2.2 k

genre: college au, smut

Rating: 18+, MDNI, explicit

warnings below cut

warnings: explicit language, fingering, implied squirting, oral sex, penetrative sex, messy sex

Every time she glanced up, it felt like all she could see was the very clear, very obvious bite mark on Seungcheol’s throat. It was barely above the collar of his hoodie, but something told her that he meant for it to be seen - he wasn’t hiding it.

She remembered how it felt, like a moment of complete madness to just sink her teeth into him like a fucking vampire marking her territory. That was dramatic, though - it wasn’t that serious. At least she tried to tell herself that it wasn’t that serious. Fucking Seungcheol in the bathroom was not serious.

Because how could it be serious, she wondered, even if she had lain awake in bed the night before because her horniness and curiosity about whoever it was fought off her need for sleep.

And now he was sitting diagonally from her, eating lunch like it was just a normal day, hiding his smile behind his hand when he thought something was too funny.

The worst was when her gaze drifted to him, and she realized he was watching her. It wasn’t that she minded, but she suddenly found herself growing red and wondering if he looked at her that way more than she knew. Worse was the thought that she hadn’t noticed.

She had liked him when they first met - she just never thought he liked her. He was always quiet around her. Even when she tried to draw him out a bit, he was like a little clam, closing tightly when he felt the smallest shift in the water around him. They had friends in common, but when she started to meet other people and branch out…it never crossed her mind that he would even notice that she wasn’t around.

But he obviously had some thoughts about her based on what he had said the night before - “I always knew you would be messy” - that was what he had said, and even the memory of it was palpable - she could taste him again, feel him again - the sloppy, needy way they had kissed, the desperate, rushed way they had fucked. She shivered, thinking about what it would be like with him if he had time and privacy.

She ripped her mind away from those thoughts, though, and tried to focus on her food.

It was probably the most nerve-racking lunch she had ever endured. Yet, somehow, as she was leaving, she found herself glancing towards Seungcheol as he walked away. He was literally headed in the opposite direction that she needed to go and the opposite direction of their friends too.

She paused outside the restaurant for a split second, barely processing what she was doing, as she re-routed herself towards him. Maybe she needed to talk to him about class or something - she wouldn’t even mention the night before, she assured herself.

She jogged a few paces and then tried to casually fall into step with him. “Can we talk?” she asked, managing to keep her voice steady.

He glanced at her, smiling, “About what, kitten?” He asked in his low voice - it was just as sexy as it was the night before.

Her eyes widened slightly at the fact that he was so nonchalant. “Umm,” she hesitated because did they really need to talk about it, she wondered. She had no idea how to navigate what he had just said.

Apparently, she was too focused on contemplating his simple question, though, because he grabbed her arm, laughing softly, “Fuck, you do see the parked car there don’t you?”

She glanced at him and shook her head because no - no, she didn’t. And she certainly didn’t notice that she was headed straight for it. She practically purred when his fingers grazed her cheek, though.

He stared at her for a moment. “Are you okay?” he asked, sounding genuinely concerned.

She shook her head.

“Because of last night?” His voice was soft now.

She nodded.

He started to speak but hesitated. “Was it - was it bad for you?”

She shook her head in confusion, thinking that was maybe the most ridiculous thing he could have asked.

“So it was good?”

She nodded because, yes, it was good. It had been really good. Really, really, really good.

He seemed reassured by her response and stepped closer as he slid an arm around her waist. She was surprised by how confident he was, wondering when he had ever been this open with her, besides the obvious, single instance.

It wasn’t what she expected, but she hadn’t expected him to rearrange her guts and psyche all in the span of about 24 minutes in a frat bathroom during a Halloween party either.

To her, Seungcheol was a bit reserved unless you knew him fairly well, which she didn’t think she did - at least she had never felt like she knew that much. She had mainly been around him at parties and things, and they had some classes together. Regardless, without thinking, she stepped closer to him, leaning against his shoulder.

He squeezed her waist. “We’re literally standing on a sidewalk next to a busy street,” he whispered.

She sighed in agreement. “Hmm, can I come home with you?” She asked - talking was easier when they weren’t making eye contact.

He nodded, “Yeah,” he whispered, as he slowly pulled away from her and led her along by the hand.

✶⋆.˚

She followed him to his apartment building. They went through the lobby and into an elevator. They stood next to each other quietly as the elevator went up. Neither spoke, which was perfectly normal for them.

She started to think maybe it was a mistake - she probably shouldn’t have followed him or talked to him - it was just a one-time thing. She stared at the tiled pattern on the floor, thinking about how insane she was for thinking that a single instance in a bathroom meant anything.

But then he squeezed her hand gently, and her thoughts shifted to how good things had felt the night before - how good he felt and the fact that he liked everything. The little things he said, like all the things he apparently knew she needed to happen.

Somehow, walking through the door of his apartment flipped the world upside down. Because before he had even closed and locked his apartment door, they were tangled together, kissing heatedly.

Both of them seemed lost from the moment their lips made contact. She barely realized that they had made it into his living room, albeit to the floor. She really didn’t care, especially as she could feel him unzipping her jeans - his fingers slipping under the waistband of her underwear.

She whined when she felt the way his fingers slid between her pussy and her already sticky underwear - his fingers hurriedly separating the fabric from her skin. She hadn’t realized she was that wet - they hadn’t even done anything.

She would have been embarrassed, but he only seemed turned on by it, kissing her harder as his fingers teased their way between her slick folds. She moaned against his lips, pulling his hair as she did.

He broke the kiss slowly, leaning up to watch her as he slid his first two fingers into her wet heat. She couldn’t help the way she moaned for him - he seemed to know exactly how to touch her for the most impact. Her eyelids fluttered closed as he worked his fingers deeper into her, opening them and teasing her slick walls. She felt unmoored - broken whimpers escaped her lips when he added his third finger.

“Please,” she managed when she felt his thumb brush her clit.

He kissed her again while his thumb drew lazy circles around her aroused bud. “Mmmh, just relax, kitten,” he whispered against her lips, “trust me.”

She nodded, already feeling drunk for him, perfectly happy to take anything he was willing to give. She already trusted him.

She shivered and gasped as her first orgasm washed over her - the sweetness of it flowing through her, warming every part of her inside and out. She moaned softly as he kept stroking her. His touch was more than teasing.

“Good?”

She nodded again, biting her lip. “’s perfect,” she rasped, breathing hard as he pulled more and more sounds from her.

She bit her lip, knowing she was completely gone as she came a second time. Waves of pleasure tingled through her skin. She could feel how wet she was, the way it was pooling beneath her. She loved the luscious feeling of her juices flowing over her skin, sticky and sweet and all for him.

“Fuck,” he whispered, “you really are this good.” He kissed her softly, pulling away only to tell her, “It’s like I’m in a dream,” he murmured quickly before she pulled him back to her. She needed to feel his lips on hers. She carded her fingers through his hair, pulling him closer, not caring if she seemed needy.

He licked into her as he pulled his fingers from her. She whined at the sudden feeling of emptiness, but she felt his hand sliding under her shirt instead. His wet fingers teased her nipple as he deepened their kiss. At the same time, she wrapped her legs around his waist, not wanting any space between them as they continued to kiss. She was already in love with how soft his lips were.

She ran her hands along his back, grasping the fabric of his shirt, wanting it out of her way. She bit his lip gently, “Take it off,” she whispered when he leaned back from her.

He sat up and tugged his shirt over his head. “Better?”

She nodded, taking him in, but she immediately noticed the thin, angry lines that marked his skin. Her fingers automatically went to them, skimming over his skin while she whispered an apology.

He hummed in acknowledgement. “I don’t think I believe you,” he smirked, leaning back down to her, his lips a breath away from hers.

She traced her fingers along his cheek. “Why?” She asked as her fingertips grazed the mark on his neck. “That?” She smiled - she was starting to feel pleased with herself for making it.

He nodded, “Umhm,” he breathed against her lips.

“Right,” she mumbled as her lips met his.

They made out like they had nothing but time. Every kiss feeling longer and sweeter than the one before it. And when his mouth finally shifted from hers and trailed along her throat and down her body, she moaned softly. He pushed her shirt up, kissing and nipping at her tender flesh as he moved lower, tasting her as he went.

She moaned softly the first time Seungcheol kissed her pussy. She reached down, letting her fingers catch in his hair as he worked his tongue inside her. She whined when he shifted so his tongue swirled around her clit. He worked his fingers back into her, pressing them deeper than before - the stretch was perfect.

She came quickly, whining as he let her legs fall to the side. She watched him stand to finish undressing before he sat back between her legs. He was hard, but he still stroked himself a few times before lining himself up with her slick opening.

He pushed in slowly, biting his lip as he filled her completely. He was still for a moment, enjoying the fact that he was inside her, even better was the way her pussy clenched around him before he had even started to move.

He was slow at first, and then he started to snap his hips properly, like he had done the night before. He loved the lewd sounds that came from her cunt - she was beyond wet for him for the second time - she was soaking him. He held her thighs up and open so he could literally watch his dick disappearing inside her with every thrust.

He bit his lip as he concentrated on going as deep as possible. He ignored the way his knees ached, focusing on her moans instead. And then it paid off - the sudden rush of cum as she lost all control. She grasped for him - he held her and tried to keep his same pace.

But he was just as desperate for her as she was for him - he had wanted to feel her for so long, being buried in her slick cunt was a dream. He couldn’t help himself as he started to sloppily chase his orgasm, fucking into her harder than he intended, but he knew he was so close to the tension breaking.

And finally, he snapped with a sudden moan as relief washed through him along with his orgasm. He had been worried he couldn’t get her there again - to that same completely fucked out, dazed place.

He leaned over her, kissing her softly, his cock still buried inside her. It was one thing he couldn’t do the night before - he swapped their positions, keeping it inside as he did. He loved the feeling of her body against his as sleep overwhelmed him.

He knew he would wake up with her to do it all again.

a/n: fr i hope he was as good as you all hoped ... he's def less rushed and don't worry - y/n's bf from the first fic is def gone ^^

part 3??

♡ kat

p.s. just for fun, since kai has a solo comeback - the first anon (or not anon) who guesses my favorite kai solo track OR solo music video/teaser film, can request a fic from me (plz check my rules to see what i don't write - still only for mingyu and seungcheol, that rule doesn't change).

♡ my [master list] if you want to read more

♡ if you want to be tagged in my posts, go [here]

𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐨𝐥 𝐛𝐲 𝐦𝐞 ^^

teasers: all but break your heart |୨୧| tonight tonight

drabbles: co-worker & spanking | gamer boy | professor one | valentine's day (cute) #kat_drabbles

fluff: profound, not sudden (magical realism au)

smut: see bingo series above and random slutty thoughts collection

series: obvious affection (college au) [pt. 1 f] [pt. 2 f&s]

omegaverse (a/b/o): alpha seungcheol [pt. 1] [pt. 2] || never let you go [master list] [part 1 ] [part 2] ||

[ taglist ]

☁︎ @syluslittlecrows [e] ☁︎ @gyuguys [e] ☁︎ @tinyelfperson [e] ☁︎ @unlikelysublimekryptonite [e] ☁︎ @livelaughloveseventeen [e] ☁︎ @codeinebelle [e] ☁︎ @ateez-atiny380 [e] ☁︎ @mingcouper [e] ☁︎ @hanniebub [e] ☁︎ @perfectiondazesworld [e] ☁︎ @scoupshawty [e] ☁︎ @peachytokki [e] ☁︎ @coupsbestleader [e] ☁︎ @fleurloovin [e] ☁︎ @babybae-shisui [e] ☁︎ @asyre [e] ☁︎ @dcrlingyou [e] ☁︎ @yeosayang [e] ☁︎

☁︎ @haik-chu [e - one/multi] ☁︎ @gigglensnort [e - one/multi/priv] ☁︎

☁︎ one-time tag from part one comments: @cherrylovescheol ☁︎

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megamuscle885-blog · 15 hours ago

Text

Worm as a MMORPG

Twelve classes split into three categories;

Defensive: Brute, Breaker, Mover, Stranger

Offensive: Striker, Shaker, Blaster, Changer

Support: Tinker, Thinker, Trump, Master

Forgive me if I misuse some terms it's like 2am and going to bed early wasn't helpful.

Brute is pretty obvious, it's a Tank who tanks with their face. Facetank. They get a high health pool or damage reduction or a natural regeneration. They most overtly take damage and make it smaller damage somehow. The same is true for how they do damage, they get ways to take small damage and make it big.

Breakers with their forms let them have at least two health pools and they usually switch between them to allow the other pool to heal, and gain abilities to mitigate damage and control the pace of the fights. I think the term is off-tank?

Movers are like a dodge tank, like matadors. They bait out the enemy's attack and then get out of the way somehow. They can semi-DPS but it means they have to stop getting out of the way of attacks to deal real damage rather than chip damage, so they can't afford to pull too much aggro.

Strangers are aggro masters, doing sabotage to draw heat away from the frontline, joining the frontline to pile on flanking damage, roaming the backline to counter-Stranger and protect the supports. Roaming tanks that need to know pretty much all the other classes to be effective. TF2's spy and scout rolled into one.

Strikers are straightforward damage dealers. They get in close and get to slap you with something useful. A lot of their gameplay is getting close and staying close. In PvP it's the world's most interesting game of tag, with strikers able to move people out of position just by approaching, but runs the risks of being focused down, same reason people don't focus Tanks in PvP unless forced to. Strikers usually take advantage of the Trigger system - which I'll explain later - to give them the edge needed to get in close.

Shakers are more like facilitators of damage rather than outright damage dealers themselves, but rarely you get someone who's got the right power to do something destructive. It's more about removing cover and opening up firing lines, flushing out the supports, cutting the tanks off from their teammates, and preventing the same from happening to your own team. Pure Shakers have an incredibly high skill ceiling and exceptional game knowledge and might drop damage altogether, becoming a semi-Support. They can tell when pushes are coming, when the supports have a Stranger causing sabotage or a Striker diving into the backline. If a Brute hasn't taken charge of a party, or a Master isn't co-ordinating the team, Shakers step up to control the flow of the battlefield by controlling the battlefield itself.

Blasters are the same as Strikers, but focus on range and keeping themselves at range. Think a critical hit/damage build. They're the reason the Shakers control the battlefield, the reason Brutes can limit the amount of damage they take in a single attack to a certain level, the reason Strangers have to leave the frontline. They're also the ones most responsible for laying on damage in the PvE. You can't just set them up in a sniper's nest and leave them to pick off mobs, cuz of aggro, but so long as they do move between shots they usually get to set up, take a shot, and leave while the tanks wrangle the mobs back into place. You can usually tell if a boss fight is going well or not based on how much DPS the Blaster is putting out. If everyone else does their job, the Blaster will be able to put out the damage. If the Blaster is constantly having to move or blast mobs, someone isn't doing their 'job', and Blasters can be toxic and get an ego as a result.

Changers adapt to both the battlefield and their opponents as rapidly as possible. They're a wildcard dps, a duelist DPS, in PvP they need to be as unpredictable as possible, in PvE they need to know who and what they're going up against. They play very similar to Strikers and Breakers too, only they don't get a second (or more) health pool and they don't get the more potent I Win buttons that a Striker can get to crowd control a fight. They jump in, switch up their damage types or movesets, down their target and jump back out. They're a multitool and have toolsets to help them dismantle just about any of the other classes in a 1v1, but like the Stranger they need to know the capabilities and powers of who they're fighting to cinch the win. Hotly debated in the community because there's so many opinions about builds that Changers often feel like they've built wrong, leading to a lot of hate from their team and a lot of enemies feeling they have cheat builds

The supports are all playing a resource minigame built into their classes.

Tinkers probably have the highest build variety in the game. Even including some of the limitations their specializations put on them, they can still pretty much do any of the other classes. Exceptionally high skill ceiling and floor as a result; if they want to pretend to be a Brute, Thinker or Blaster, they have to know the role. Half of the main gameplay loop for a Tinker is spent out of combat, in the PvE and resource gathering mechanics. The more time you spend grinding materials, the more materials you have to build tech. Eventually though, you hit a cap on how much innovation you can do and you have to take that tech into fights to both test the new tech and also gain new data to turn into new tech. You get materials and data from both PvE and PvP, but PvE turns out more reliable common materials and PvP turns out more reliable common data, with the rarer stuff flipped. Rare materials as a result of battlefield damage or pieces of costume blasted off in PvP, rare data as a result of exploration and boss battles. The class is a bit harsh to new players who don't have the same time and effort the older Tinkers have to put into their equipment and do experimentation, which is a valid critique of the system and Tinkers are probably the most patched, nerfed and buffed class of them all, something that probably won't change until the main mechanic of the class is reworked.

Thinkers are very similar to Tinkers, except that they don't need to deal with materials and solely focus on data gained in PvE/PvP. Over the course of the fight and using as many points of data gathering as they can, they build up something like inspiration points, which they can throw out to teammates for damage boosts or damage reduction. At the start of PvP battles, nobody knows anything about the enemy team, and the Thinkers have to model the enemy in real time, revealing the fog of war and shutting down strategies while trying to advance their own. Tattletale figuring out Clockblocker and Aegis switched costumes is a pretty good example of denying the enemy strategy. Thinkers do get a lot of abilities to protect themselves, and sometimes you'll get frontline combat thinkers who can fight and communicate the capabilities of the enemy team more directly, by getting into fights with them and figuring out a way to survive long enough or disengage to pass the info along. But at the end of the day, they're usually not dangerous or tough enough to stand up to most other classes. The purest thinkers are truly game changing though, capable of ruining the enemy team's strategy long before they get to employ it. Of course, just because you've revealed the enemy team's plans and capabilities doesn't mean they're not still on the battlefield, so they still need to be fought. Thinkers are directly tied into battlefield objectives. Gain access to the security room to give your thinker eyes and ears on the foyer the enemy team is busting into. Move to capture the high ground so your Thinker has a vantage point. Capture an enemy team member so your Thinker has someone to interrogate.

Trumps are all about powers. They boost powers, they sap powers, they develop new powers. A good trump is always looking for anyone flagging in a fight and anywhere they can plug up gaps. They're almost always the main healer too, jumping in and using their power over powers to switch things up so their team is taking less damage, or recovering from it, and forcing the enemy team to back off or chase them down to stop the effects. There's good interplay with the other classes too, like getting the Thinker to tell them info on the enemy's powers to make a nullifying dive worth it. Bad trumps can seriously fuck up their own team's powers if they don't know what they're doing, which means that every time a Trump is on the team they are heavily interrogated as to their abilities and how they alter powers. If you've ever been screamed at for playing Mercy or Medic 'wrong' you're dipping your toe into a Trump's daily routine. Their powers come with resources and charges attached. Drain or nullify a power and you increase your own. Or three wishes and you can spend them on any power you want. Touch and imbue someone with damage negation, or superspeed, or regeneration, but you can't do too many charges at once.

Masters are the most flexible supports depending on what they master. They're split between three main roles based on the source of their minions, which is their resource minigame. Summoners pull minions from the battlefield, which makes them great in both PvE and PvP, because they can hardly be disarmed, but their minions are usually otherwise mundane and don't usually have high damage or health numbers. Bugs, for example. Which means they have to get pretty creative, huh? Controllers directly attack the enemy team, or sometimes puppet their own team members to grant them effects. A controller might take a bunch of Brutes as minions and become a Brute tank themselves, splitting the damage between them instead of getting damaged himself. Similarly, Controllers can just snatch an enemy teammate to turn against their own team, usually functioning like a Stranger, with the enemy team not knowing until it's too late, or until a Thinker spots the sabotage. Creators generate minions from themselves or sometimes the environment. Where Summoners get lots of mundane minions, Creators usually get a potent single or handful of minions with high stats or abilities of their own. An indestructible minion that lays waste to the enemy team until a Thinker can figure out where the Master is. A wave of custom minions built out of a biomatter resource the Master needs to manage.

Next up is the Trigger system.

When you create your character and their power, you can choose to mix up two or three power categories, with a thinning of points if you decide to go diverse, or you can keep the points in a single category and go for a pure class role. You can single trigger or double trigger, the latter makes your power more potent, even if you spread across two classes, but locks you into that class. Single triggers can later go for the second trigger and get a whole new tint on their original power, often choosing to add on the capabilities of another class, but they don't get outright buffs the way a double trigger usually does.

I don't know how to do grab bags as a fun mechanic. I think I'll stop here, it's been an hour. A few more things? I've never played City of Heroes but I heard it was fun.

The game is called Parahumans Online. Might be a fun no powers AU where Taylor is an up and coming Master Summoner and falls in with the Undersiders, a new villain guild.

#wormblr #parahumans #worm #worm spoilers #wildbow #worm web serial #worm fanfiction

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your-local-bi-panic · 2 days ago

Text

Part 2: Sculpt This, Griff

Final Part

Description: You’re peacefully sculpting in your dorm when you get swarmed by notifications on a TikTok live. Is the UConn team actually talking about your artistic abilities?

Warnings: none

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Your screen goes black as the live ends, leaving you staring at your reflection in the camera — flushed cheeks, clay-streaked fingers, and a slightly dumbfounded look on your face.

“…what just happened,” you mutter to yourself, tossing your phone down and flopping back on the floor.

One second you were sculpting in peace, the next you were going toe-to-toe with Aubrey Griffin on a live in front of thousands of people — and not just arguing. Flirting. Hard.

Your phone buzzes again.

A text. Unknown number.

[Unknown Number]

You’re a menace. But I’m kinda obsessed. 😌

You blink, heart skipping. Then another message comes in.

[Unknown Number]

It’s Aubrey btw. Don’t block me. Unless it’s part of your sculpting process or whatever.

You sit up, snort-laughing. Before you can even respond, she sends a third.

[Aubrey Griffin]

Seriously though. That was fun. We should actually do something. You, me, some clay… we can see whose “art has more depth.”

You type, pause, then delete. Then type again:

[You]

Only if you promise not to bring crayons this time.

A beat. Then:

[Aubrey Griffin]

No promises. I like to express myself in vibrant primary colors.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks are already aching from grinning.

Then a final message pops in.

[Aubrey Griffin]

Saturday? You teach me how to not embarrass myself artistically. I’ll bring snacks.

[You]

Deal. But I take payment in coffee and humility.

[Aubrey Griffin]

Humility? That sounds fake. But I’ll try for you.

Saturday afternoon.

You hear the knock before you even finish tying up your apron. You wipe your hands on a towel and open the door to find Aubrey leaning against the frame, hoodie sleeves pushed up, hair in a bun, and a cocky little grin on her face.

“You ready to lose?” she says.

You raise an eyebrow. “You brought the crayons, didn’t you.”

She pulls a jumbo pack out of her hoodie pocket like she’s presenting a rare artifact. “The deluxe set. With glitter.”

You snatch them, toss them onto your desk. “Disqualified.”

She laughs and steps inside, eyes widening as she takes it all in. Your dorm’s been transformed — shelves full of ceramic bowls, handmade mugs, a corner stacked with sketches, a massive canvas-in-progress propped against the wall. Half a dozen half-finished clay pieces sit on a table near the window, bathed in soft light.

“Whoa,” Aubrey says softly, turning in a slow circle. “This is… like, an actual artist’s studio. I thought I was stepping into a dorm.”

You smirk. “Yeah, well, some of us have hobbies that don’t include trash-talking on TikTok lives.”

“Bold of you to call yourself humble,” she teases, then nods toward the small easel you’ve set up. “Alright, let’s get this over with. Portrait time?”

You hand her a pencil and paper. “Try to capture the essence of my soul.”

She squints at you, dramatically. “Mmm… chaos. And maybe caffeine.”

Twenty minutes later, you're holding in laughter as Aubrey reveals what looks suspiciously like a stick figure wearing hoop earrings.

You hold yours up beside it — her, drawn in soft graphite lines, detailed and focused, somehow both casual and intimate. She stares at it for a long moment. “...Okay, rude. That’s actually good.”

You shrug. “Told you I’d win.”

She’s still looking at the drawing when she says, quieter, “How do you do that?”

You glance up. “Do what?”

“Make it look like someone’s… real. Like they exist on the paper.”

You pause. Then shrug your shoulders as a light blush makes its way up your neck.

Aubrey takes one more lap around your room, pausing in front of a painting with thick brushstrokes and colors that blend like storm clouds and sunlight. “You did all of this?”

You nod, a little sheepish despite the pride in your chest. “Yeah. I mean… I didn’t sleep much last semester.”

She crouches by a shelf of small sculptures — little bowls, abstract figures, a few animals mid-motion. Her fingers ghost the edge of a lopsided mug. “Okay, you weren’t kidding. You are the best artist at UConn.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Is that an apology?”

She grins. “It’s a surrender.”

Then she turns toward you, head tilted just slightly. “Teach me?”

You blink. “Wait, seriously?”

Aubrey shrugs, suddenly bashful. “I mean… yeah. If you want. I’m not promising a masterpiece, but—”

“I didn’t think you could ask for help.”

Her mouth drops open in mock offense. “Wow. Clay to the face.”

You laugh and gesture to the little workstation by the window. “Come on then, art girl.”

She takes the seat beside you, knees bumping yours, her leg warm against yours even through jeans. You hand her a chunk of clay and she holds it like it might explode. You try not to smile too much.

“We’ll start simple,” you say, reaching for your own piece. “We’ll make a dinosaur.”

She blinks. “A what?”

You’re already shaping the base. “Everyone’s first clay animal ends up looking like a dinosaur anyway. Might as well lean into it.”

She laughs. “That’s fair.”

A few minutes in, she’s pressing too hard, fingers smushing the shape into something… vaguely tragic. You scoot closer, shifting behind her a bit.

“Here,” you say softly, slipping your hands around hers, “let me show you.”

She stills. Her breath catches just slightly when your fingers close over hers, guiding them gently over the clay.

“Less pressure,” you murmur, “just enough to shape it.”

Your voice is right by her ear now, and you feel her relax into the motion, shoulders unwinding under your touch. You keep your hands there for a few more moments, pressing your thumbs over hers to smooth the ridge of what might become the dino’s back.

Then you slowly let go.

“Okay,” you say, leaning back, “your turn.”

She keeps going, more focused now, tongue caught between her teeth. “I think he’s coming together.”

You nod approvingly. “He’s got character.”

“Wait—damn.” One of the legs starts tilting to the side, making the whole thing slouch. “Okay, rude. He’s trying to die.”

You lean in again, nudging the base gently. “Not on my watch.”

Aubrey’s hand bumps yours as you both try to fix it, your fingers brushing, clay smearing across her knuckle. She glances at you, something flickering in her eyes.

You raise a brow. “You’re messy.”

She swipes a streak of clay across your cheek without missing a beat. “So are you.”

“Ohhh. That’s how it is?”

The next thing you know, you’ve got a smear of clay-water on her jaw, and she’s laughing as she retaliates, a bit of clay landing right on your shoulder.

And just like that, it’s chaos.

Water drips across your apron, clay smudges in places clay should not be, and you’re both trying to sculpt and sabotage at the same time. But somehow — somehow — the little dinosaur makes it through.

He’s a little uneven, a little droopy, but adorable in the way only a battle-hardened clay creature could be.

Aubrey looks down at it, then over at you, grinning. “Not bad for our first kid.”

You laugh, the words slipping out before you can catch them. “We’ll put him on the fridge.”

She leans in, just slightly, eyes still on you. “You’d let me near your fridge?”

You meet her gaze, a little breathless. “Maybe.”

She doesn’t say anything right away, but she doesn’t pull back either. Your knees are still touching. Her hair’s falling slightly in her face, and there’s a streak of clay on her jaw you could definitely wipe away — if you weren’t afraid touching her would undo you.

The air between you shifts, thick with something unspoken.

And yet… she just smiles. Picks up the dinosaur gently and sets it on your desk like it’s sacred.

“Same time next week?” she asks casually, like she didn’t almost make your heart stop.

You nod. “Yeah. For sure.”

She starts to stand, but not before brushing her fingers over your wrist, feather-light.

Then she’s gone.

And you’re left staring at the door, breath stuck somewhere in your throat, with clay on your cheek and a little dinosaur on your desk who saw everything.

Next Saturday, late afternoon.

You’ve barely set your brushes down when there’s a knock at the door. You already know who it is — your stomach’s been doing that thing all day. You open the door, and there she is: Aubrey, paint-stained hoodie, curls loose today, holding an iced coffee in one hand and a tiny plastic bag in the other.

“For our son,” she says, wiggling the bag.

Inside? A mini paint set and a tiny foam brush.

You blink. “You got him his own supplies?”

“Excuse me,” she says, stepping inside, “but if he’s going on display, he needs to pop. I thought we agreed he was gonna be a star.”

You close the door behind her, already grinning. “What did you name him?”

Aubrey sets down the supplies and shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Blorbo.”

You stare. “Blorbo?”

“It’s his vibe.”

You lose it, leaning on your desk as you laugh. “Our child is doomed.”

But before long, you’re both seated side by side again, paint pots open, paper towels laid out (not that you’ll use them), and Blorbo the Dinosaur front and center like a king about to get his royal paint job.

“He’s going blue,” Aubrey announces, dipping the brush into the paint. “Because he’s cool under pressure.”

You snort. “That’s your reasoning?”

“Also it’s the only color I know how to use without making a mess.”

Five minutes in, you’re already laughing because Blorbo looks like he’s mid-makeover and panicking about it. Aubrey’s trying to do clean edges but keeps overdoing it.

“Careful—you're giving him a racing stripe,” you tease, reaching out to smooth the paint with your brush. Your hand brushes hers again. She doesn’t move away.

You both freeze for half a second, eyes flicking up to meet. Then—

“I meant to do that,” she says, too fast.

“Sure you did.”

She dabs a light blue dot on Blorbo’s back, smug. “Highlight. Boom. Natural talent.”

You tilt your head. “That’s actually not bad.”

“Say it louder.”

You roll your eyes and reach for the spot she missed. She moves closer to see better, and now her shoulder’s pressed against yours. You don’t say anything about it. Neither does she.

“I’m just saying,” she murmurs as she watches you work, “if this whole sculpting prodigy thing doesn’t work out, you could always start a custom dinosaur business.”

You raise an eyebrow. “With you as my business partner?”

“Obviously. I’m the branding.”

You lean back, inspecting Blorbo. “Okay. He’s kind of adorable.”

“He’s thriving,” Aubrey says. Then she dips her brush in water, looks at you mischievously, and flicks it—just barely—so a drop hits your cheek.

You gasp. “You did not.”

Her grin is dangerous. “You looked too clean.”

Without thinking, you swipe your brush across her forearm — a streak of blue, bright and bold.

She blinks. “Okay. War.”

The next few minutes are a blur of laughter and chaos — water splashes, streaks of paint, and somehow a dab ends up on the tip of your nose. Aubrey’s laughing so hard she nearly knocks over the water cup, and you end up both trying to catch it, your hands colliding.

You’re both breathless now, flushed, still too close. Paint clings to your skin, your clothes, your shared little world of brushes and ceramic dinosaurs and unspoken tension.

She looks at you — really looks — and something shifts again.

“You’ve got…” She reaches up slowly, fingers brushing your cheek. “Paint. Right here.”

Her touch lingers just a second too long.

You swallow. “So do you.”

You press your thumb gently to her jawline, wiping away a smear of pale blue. Neither of you move.

You could kiss her.

You could.

But instead—

“Blorbo’s judging us,” you say, voice soft and teasing.

She grins, leaning in a little closer. “He’ll get over it.”

And then… maybe she doesn’t kiss you.

But it’s damn close

——

Blorbo is officially complete.

He’s a little shiny from the sealant, his ocean-blue body dotted with careful light blue spots, and he looks like the proud, paint-covered child of two artists who had way too much fun arguing over how many dots was “too many.”

You both sit back, admiring him from across the desk.

“He’s a masterpiece,” Aubrey says, brushing dried paint from her wrist. “A little lopsided still, but that’s personality.”

You nod solemnly. “Like his mom.”

She throws a paint-stained napkin at you. “Rude. I’m the artistic one.”

You snort. “Right. You painted the left eye crooked.”

“He was blinking!”

Still grinning, Aubrey leans forward, resting her chin in her hand as she looks at Blorbo. “Okay, real talk… can I take him back with me?”

You glance at her, surprised. “Seriously?”

She nods. “Joint custody. But he should stay at my place first. First artistic child and all.”

You pretend to consider. “Only if you promise visitation rights.”

“Obviously. You can see him weekends and holidays.”

“Mm. Every other Wednesday too.”

“Deal.”

Back in Aubrey’s dorm.

She carefully places Blorbo on her dresser, centered like he’s royalty. She even adjusts a lamp slightly to give him better lighting.

“Look at him,” she whispers to herself. “Our perfect son.”

Before she can revel too long, the dorm door opens and in come a few of the basketball girls — KK, Nika, and Aaliyah, loud and laughing already.

“Aubreeeyyy,” KK sings. “Where’s the masterpiece?”

“I brought him back,” Aubrey says proudly, stepping aside.

They crowd around the dresser.

“Wait,” Nika says, squinting at Blorbo. “You made this?”

Aubrey shrugs casually. “Yeah. With help.”

“With a lot of help,” Aaliyah adds, eyeing her.

KK squints. “No way you did those details. You can barely draw a stick figure.”

“Excuse me?!”

They don’t buy it — and before long, KK’s already pulling out her phone. “We’re going live. People need to see this.”

Live on TikTok.

The comments explode instantly. People remember the last live. The teasing. The tension. The energy.

KK turns the camera toward the dino. “Everyone, meet Blorbo. Aubrey’s son. Also maybe the real star of the show.”

Nika leans in. “He’s like… actually cute. Which is sus.”

“Suspicious because there’s no way Aubrey made something this good,” KK laughs.

“Okay,” Aubrey defends herself, stealing the phone, “first of all, rude. Second of all…”

She turns toward the screen with a smirk and hits accept.

The screen splits. Your face pops up.

The comments go feral.

There’s no greeting. Aubrey just holds up Blorbo dramatically. “Say hi to your other parent.”

You blink. “Is this a custody check-in?”

KK howls off-camera. “YES! We’re trying to figure out which one of you actually made him!”

You shrug innocently. “He has my brushstroke genes.”

Aubrey gasps. “He got your chaos. That was your light blue splatter!”

“He thrives in that environment.”

“Hmm,” she smirks. “Well, just so you know, he’s sleeping on my side of the dresser. You get him next weekend.”

“Oh, we’re doing weekends now? What about mid-week playdates?”

Aubrey grins. “We’ll set up a calendar.”

The team in the background is living for it — loud, dramatic reactions, fake sobs, KK pretending to officiate a custody hearing. And the fans? They’re already clipping the live, comments pouring in faster than anyone can read.

“BLOBRO FAMILY SUPREMACY”

“just kiss already omg”

“when’s the custody swap vlog??”

“@UConnWBB pls give them a reality show”

“this isn’t about a dinosaur anymore is it 👀”

Aubrey looks back at the camera, her smile soft now. “Okay, but like… for real. He turned out so cute.”

You nod. “We did good.”

She catches your gaze through the screen, just a little longer than needed. “We really did.”

“I think he'll need a sister though”.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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#aubrey griffin #uconn wbb #kk arnold #nika muhl #aaliyah #wbb x reader #uconn huskies #art #dinosaur